


Bitter

by Lefaym



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-22
Updated: 2009-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set towards the end of "Exit Wounds": John Hart is bitter about the way things have ended with Jack; but the presence of Ianto Jones might help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter

John slunk through the Hub, muttering under his breath about exes who turned their cheek when you went to kiss them, who were just no fun anymore, even if they were grieving, even if they seemed to have inexplicably grown and heart and a conscience, because, honestly, if your world is falling apart, why not try to lose yourself for a bit, in drugs, or the kill, or in another person?

Well, from what he had seen, this world, and this century would offer him plenty of all three, and maybe when he knew it a little better, maybe then Jack would see reason, would see that --

The sound of nylon bristles and water on concrete pulled John from his reverie. He'd hardly noticed Ianto Jones off to the side there, scrubbing blood off the floor -- Jack's or Toshiko's, he wasn't sure. Pretty Ianto, standing up now, eyeing him warily, with so much restrained grief, restrained hatred, restrained everything; exactly what was missing from Jack now -- Jack, so willing to cry and talk about his feelings and _forgive_. Not like Ianto who kept it all inside, but who would've shot John in an instant if Gwen hadn't stopped him, all that restraint breaking free in one glorious moment.

Of course, it was lucky that Gwen had stopped him, really; John valued his own life rather highly, after all. And now, it was all still there, all that _feeling_ still simmering away beneath that suit, beneath that face that rarely revealed anything, beneath all that impotent rage, just waiting to be tapped.

"Leave," said Ianto: a totally unnecessary order, since that's what John had been doing anyway. _Had_ been, until he'd been told to actually do it.

John smiled. "What, you don't want me to stick around for the cocktails and canapés? I could even help, I do this great trick with the little umbrellas--"

Ianto growled in the back of his throat, and -- oh, yes, this was exactly right, exactly what he needed. He walked towards John, and looked down at him, their faces inches apart. "Go," he said. "You've done enough."

John laughed. "Oh, no, Eye-Candy," he smirked (really, he was going to have to think of a new epithet for the boy soon), "not _quite_ enough." And judging the moment just right -- the moment just before Ianto would raise his fist to hit him, John grabbed him by the tie, pulled his face down those last few inches, smashing their lips together, lips and tongues and breath and teeth, and he could feel Ianto fall into it, resisting it at the same time, giving him exactly what Jack wouldn't, giving John what he'd probably give to Jack later, except it wouldn't be the same then, because the dam was broken now, and John was the one to see it. He laughed as they pulled apart for breath.

He barely noticed when the punch landed on his jaw -- he didn't realise what had happened until he hit the floor, the taste of iron sweetness in his mouth.

"Get out," said Ianto, and turned, his fist still clenched has he walked towards the morgue. Towards the rows of the dead and the inconveniently alive. Towards Jack.

Jack, who probably wouldn't turn his cheek this time.

John watched him go, grinning through the blood in his teeth. He'd leave now then, if that was what they wanted. He'd find people to fuck, and to kill, and he'd get high. And then he'd come back, to Torchwood, to Jack, to his cute little playthings -- and he'd do it all again.


End file.
